


Loop

by angelaiswriting (carolinemoore)



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 14:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinemoore/pseuds/angelaiswriting
Summary: After the Battle of New York, Tony's life is stuck in a loop and he feels like he can't get out of it.





	Loop

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr (angelaiswriting.tumblr.com), I thought I'd post it here too.

It always goes like this.

Tony Stark lies awake at night, the faint glow of the miniature arc reactor in his chest a constant reminder of what happened.

He goes up, up, _up_ into the sky and into that damn wormhole every night–and every day, when his brain goes back into the loop his life has become.

He still feels it all: the weight of the missile on his shoulders, its raging sound as he steers it away from New York City, his sweat trailing down his spine, his body confined in his armor. The gut-wrenching fear of dying, of exploding in space– _or worse_ : of getting stuck there, in the void, waiting for death to come, terribly aware of it getting closer and closer until it’s there and he cannot run away anymore and he can only watch it get closer, stalk him like a prey. He still feels Death’s fingers as they claw at his heart, at his brain, at his throat as oxygen quickly runs out and his lungs fight to keep on working and his brain is stuck on a loop and it cannot think and it cannot scream and it keeps him there, paralyzed, horribly aware of his time running out.

And if he closes his eyes, he’s still there, in space, and suddenly that vast expanse that makes every brain stop isn’t appealing anymore. And he still sees it, the Chitauri army, waiting to invade Earth, _ready_ to invade Earth and destroy it. And he fears for himself and for his friends and for Rhodey and for Happy and for _her_. And he still hears the sound of a flat line as he tries to call her, to tell her he loves her and that she doesn’t have to worry, that he’ll be home for dinner and he’ll take her out to a fancy dinner on his disgustingly expensive yacht. But she doesn’t answer, she never does, and every night he still hears that noise and he still feels his chest tighten and contract and shrink in size until it’s as small as the arc reactor. And he’s afraid of dying.

Scratch that.

Tony Stark is fucking _terrified_ of dying. Of dying alone, of dying with the only one he loves, of dying in the cold of space, of dying in front of the Chitauri, of dying in his suit, something he grew to love and that is now ready to swallow his body.

He’s fucking terrified of dying because, in those infinite seconds up there, he realized he’s never lived, not for one day, not for one minute. And he finds himself wishing to live, every single night, in his own bed, his limbs turned to stone, his body paralyzed, his brain whirring and going wild, filling his mind with a static silence that terrifies him _to the bone_.

And his fingers twitch, every night, in the same way, and he’s never aware of it.

And his breath comes out ragged and his heart thunders in his ears but he cannot hear it nor can he feel it. Because every night he’s never there, never in his room, and that gut-wrenching, mind-shattering fear still crawls on his cold and sweaty skin, forcing goosebumps to appear and pull at his skin and at his hair and at his mind.

And the arc reactor feels like an ice cube, like a fucking _iceberg_ and he feels like he’s losing his mind even if he knows he already has. And he doesn’t fear he’ll never be the same because, this time, he knows it. _He knows it_. And weirdly enough it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t bug him, because for once he can re-start from scratch, he can build himself as he goes. And he’d love to do that, but he can’t because he doesn’t _go_. He doesn’t move, he’s stuck there and his lungs hurt when he realizes that. They itch and burn and they contract and they shrink in size and they inflate and they feel like they’re on the verge of bursting and he’s terribly aware of it all.

And when he turns his head to the side, Y/N isn’t there: a Chitauri is and he is screaming and writhing and fighting back.

With the only exception that he’s not moving. He’s hardly breathing, and he’s not screaming, nor moaning, nor whimpering. His eyes are open wide and it takes him a long minute to realize that Y/N is right there, next to him, sleeping peacefully and that minute feels like an eternity as his mind dilates time, slows it down.

It takes him another eternity to calm down–but he doesn’t. He just goes back to breathing normally and he’s able to restart his brain, but it still doesn’t function, it’s still stuck in a loop, with the only exception that this time it’s another loop, one he’d sell his soul to keep living it.

And he stretches his hand out to touch her, to feel her warm skin under his stone-cold fingertips. But he doesn’t, not immediately, at least. He desperately wants to, but he cannot bring himself to.

She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t deserve _him_. And it’s not because he’s too much for her, but because he’s too broken, too shattered, split between life and death, stuck in a limbo in the in-between, and he’s not there for her even if he’d give his life for her.

And he almost did.

But he doesn’t want to think about it now. He doesn’t want to go back there, back where he finally learned the true value of his life. Which amounts to _nothing_.

He’s not worth anything.

 _Tony Stark isn’t worth anything_.

Or this is what he saw, what he keeps on repeating himself. And he cannot stop it and he cannot believe otherwise. He knows it’s the truth. Because he wasted it, his life in this world, and he is still wasting it. And suddenly he wants to go back there and fight against the fall that brought him back out of the wormhole. He wants to stay there and to freeze to death, to feel his body and mind die as the glow from the arc reactor in his chest dies with him.

But he’s still looking for excuses. Excuses to be selfish, to stay there, even if he’s broken and scarred and _paralyzed_ , reliving the same moments again and again and again.

 _And again_.

And he doesn’t want to believe Y/N when she tries to talk some sense into him, when she tries to comfort him, because he cannot feel her arms, or her skin on his, or her breath fanning against his shoulder as she sleeps, unaware of the battle going on in her lover’s head and heart.

And he knows he loves her, but he also feels like his love is stuck in that same loop as his mind, and it’s frozen, and it cannot save him, cannot warm him up, cannot shake him out of his terror.

And he wants to stop loving her and he wants for her to stop loving him, to save herself from the only thing he can offer her– _misery_. And he wants her to leave him, to crush him under her shoes, _to forget him_ because she doesn’t deserve this, because _he doesn’t deserve her_.

He’s got so many things wrong, and he still hasn’t steered away from that path.

With the only exception that he has, but his mind hasn’t caught up yet. It still doesn’t know where he stands, where the world stands, even if he puts on a brave mask every morning and proves everyone otherwise.

But his façade is slowly cracking, and light isn’t seeping out. There’s no light inside him and even that of the arc reactor seems dull now and he wants it to stop working.

But he’s still too scared of dying. He doesn’t want to feel like _that_ again and it doesn’t matter that he actually feels like that every night–and every day, under a mask that does nothing but kill him slowly.

He just doesn’t feel it, and at the same time, _he does_. And it doesn’t make sense and it probably never will.

And every night his brain goes in override and his body tenses and he cannot close his eyes, nor does he want to.

But, every night, it also goes like this.

Y/N wakes up. She doesn’t need Tony to shake her awake because her sleep is light, now, and when he finally manages to moan out in pain and despair, she’s there for him.

At first, she holds his hand in hers, and she kisses it, kisses his fingers, his nails, every inch of its skin until some warmth goes back to it. Until he realizes she’s there and she’s real and she’s not leaving, she’s not abandoning him behind.

She pushes his sweaty hair back, away from his forehead, then, and she keeps her hand there, half on his forehead and half on his head. And she brushes her lips against his shoulder and she feels his cold skin and his cold sweat and the tension in his muscles and she breathes out silently as his goosebumps tickle her lips.

Then, slowly, almost afraid of startling him, her fingers start playing in his hair and her free arm hugs his waist.

And Tony Stark trembles from head to toe and his lower lip quivers and his heart hurts.

He lets out a trembling sigh and he can slowly feel her–feel her hands and her arms and her skin touching his and her warmth, almost too hot, almost burning him alive. But it feels different, it feels _good_ , and he knows he can breathe again.

But he doesn’t, he can’t, not yet. Because if she died, he’d die, too, slowly, a little every day, until he’d be but an empty shell and he’d eventually die, too.

But she’s not dying, he has to remind himself, and she’s not hurt, either. She’s there, alive, buzzing with life, and his fingers twitch again, against her stomach now, and he knows she’s there. And for a moment he holds onto the hem of her shirt–or of his shirt, these days he can never really see what she’s wearing. He holds on tight with just two fingers, sometimes three, and he doesn’t say a word.

Y/N doesn’t say a word either. She lies there, next to him, _against_ him, and the sense of touch slowly gets back to him, it brings him back to reality.

And slowly, very slowly, he becomes aware of her heart beating like a drum against his arm and his fingers twitch again and he lets out another sigh.

And just as slowly, he ends up cuddling her, hiding his face in her chest, and she does her best to soothe him, rubbing circles on his back, trying to loosen the tension in his muscles.

It’s almost morning now and his heart has calmed down, his breathing is regular once again. But he still cannot sleep–and she can’t either. And so they lie there, clutching at each other, and they breathe each other in and he tries to apologize, but she’s having none of it.

And even if he has nothing to apologize for, he still whispers it against her collarbone, his chapped lips brushing against her warm skin. And she kisses his head, and she apologizes, too. She’d like to do more, to help him better, but, just like him, she’s paralyzed.

And slowly he moves to hover over her and her eyes are teary and his are empty. If they closed for good one day, he probably wouldn’t even notice. But he stays there, motionless, and he stares at her like he’s seeing her for the first time all over again. And she stares at him like he’s a work of art–battered and broken and _grey_ , but a work of art nonetheless.

And when they make love–because it always goes like this–Tony feels something, every time a little more, and he’s sure one day he’ll feel again. And as they make love, she holds him close, and tight, and she kisses his temple, and she moans softly against his ear as he whimpers against her skin.

And when the sun finally rises and catches them both in the act, Tony feels at home, and he’s hopeful, and Y/N knows that, for a while, he will be back until, one day, he will be for good.

And when they both come and their breathing stops for a second and their eyes screw shut and their hearts pick up and the world shatters and breaks and fades all around them, nothing but them exists.

And for a few hours, all is well.

**Author's Note:**

> Gah, I hope this was good. What do you guys think of it?


End file.
